On top of my cold I got kind of cold at the weekend, winter's here after all. Firework night is mighty grand, is it not? But I woke up the following morning really too ill to go into London to see my sister and nephew. My inadequacy for the task received its just rewards (including a long walk in the rain along the South Bank, repeatedly failing to find Ofili's Upper Room, and a tube-journey panic bad enough to make my shins ache) and culminated in my getting there after nephew's bedtime. This morning, after choking up what felt like half a lung, I stumbled downstairs and told Damian I thought I shouldn't go to work today. "Great," he said, "You'll be able to get loads done!" But I didn't even manage to do the washing up. Just stayed in bed. Some sickie.